Bubbles
by Distopia
Summary: It is something strange between them, and he knows not neither that which she wants nor needs, and it perplexes him, for she wants for none of those. ONESHOT Collection
1. Chapter 1: Midnight Confessions

Series: Beyblade

Genre: General

Author: Aethyrial Flame

Summary: It is something strange between them, and he knows not neither that which she wants nor needs; and it perplexes him, for she wants for none of those.

Disclaimer: I don't own beyblade or it associated characters and trademarks, but I _do_ own the original characters and settings in those one-shot.

* * *

"You're a pervert."

The words where rather flat, though the amused, teasing lilt to them had his eyebrow twitching upwards in response. Lolling in the water, she splashed idly for a moment before turning to face him.

"Seriously,"

She added, gossamer strands of night drifting about her, weighted down and slowly sinking. He nodded, gaze fixed on the mirror. Emerald eyes quickening with gold narrowed, her mouth quirking into the wry smile he knew so well.

"You _are_,"

This time an audible pout leaked into her words, and he sighed, shifting his weight. Crimson burnt against the reflective surface before him, glimmering past dark drapes and flickering flames.

"Mm_rrr_."

Her grumpy growl prompted him to turn slightly, icy locks rustling as he looked over his shoulder. Water sloshed against the tall, sloped sides of the tub as she rolled over quickly, flesh tantalisingly concealed by mounds of bubbles. Slender ankles rose and fell rhythmically as she kicked the water, splattering the walls with frothing liquid.

"Hn."

"_Very_ descriptive,"

She shot back dryly, sultry smirk spreading across her face. It was ruined by one calloused hand crankily scraping strands of sable from her face, but he was concentrating on the reflection significantly lower, anyway.

"Totally and utterly stunning, you know?"

Rich with whimsy, her light, teasing words echoed faintly from the arched ceiling. He sighed, arms uncrossing and recrossing to the soft creak of leather and the whisper of silk.

"Blech. Stinky,"

One grimy hand crept from the tub and unsuccessfully reached for the drifting edge of his scarf.

"Closet Romanist,"

Was her accusation, and she received a stifled snort of laughter buy way of reply. Smiling smugly, dark crescents feathered against her cheeks as she sank deeper into the water.

"They'll never believe you,"

Soft and rather bland, it took a practiced ear to pick the subtle smirk out from beneath the words.

"I _know_."

She groused, before giggling and splashing a spray of water at him. Stiffening, the older teen twisted, one baleful crimson orb pinning her to the spot. Blithely ignoring the threat in his gaze, she grinned impishly and repeated the action.

Pointedly, his hands began to move, stripping themselves of adornment. Giggling once more, she swam away from the edge, humming a soft tune.

A blush frisked its way across her cheeks as he began to undress, and the wet slap of her hair as she tossed her head provoked a smile from him.

"Don't make me come in and get you,"

He threatened, down to the bare necessities. She tossed her head once more, dark banner of silk rippling beneath the surface of the water.

"Shan't."

Was her childish reply, as she rolled onto her back and began sculpting something out of bubbles on her stomach. A sigh echoed through the room as he strode over to her, loose cotton pants billowing about his ankles.

One eye cracked open before she sank deeper into the water with a scowl.

"Move it, short cakes."

Her jaw dropped, before she hastily gathered her composure and splashed a vengeful wave of water at him. Bobbing up, her hands fanned the water at her sides as she trod it for a moment, glaring with all the indignity of her wounded pride.

"I am _not_ SHORT!"

She hollered, before giggling again. The sound was abruptly cut off as she disappeared beneath the water, before bobbing back up, hacking and spluttering water.

"Idiot,"

He murmured fondly, though the mocking glint in his eye hardened the words. Wiping her streaming eyes with equally wet hands, she pouted petulantly and rolled over once more, bubbles clinging to the smooth skin of her back.

"'M _not_ getting out,"

Mulishly, she ground the words out and then disappeared beneath the surface of the water, reappearing about a metre away.

"C'mon _get_ me, ice man."

She began to laugh, now, at the stony look that crossed his face. He was funny, like that; he hated getting wet. But the dark scowl he shot her way froze her breath in her throat as he tensed, muscles rippling as he prepared to dive.

"Aiiee!"

With a high pitched yelp, she began frantically scrambling for the other side, determined to reach the relative safety of the cat walk. A splash behind her startled the emerald eyed teen, and she doubled her efforts to reach the other end.

"Lemme _alone_! It wasn't my fault!"

She whined, stopping to tread water. Glancing around suspiciously, she gathered a mound of bubbles to her, placing them protectively around her. Time trickled buy, and she began to fret a little.

Her keen hearing could detect no movement nearby, and she was just edging towards the other side, where her towel was, when a wave of water crashed over her.

"Aaahh! Go'way go'way!"

Panicked, her wail echoed throughout the room, firelight dancing across the rough, choppy surface of the water. Softly, a whimper burned its way from her throat, as barely healed muscles stretched and strained.

Clutching her wounded side, she curled up in the water, fists clenching spasmodically.

Water darkened to a grey streaked navy, crimson burned from beneath icy bangs as he hurriedly swam over to her. She flinched away from his touch, and the older teen's jaw hardened at the faint pink tint colouring the water around her.

Gathering her to him, he swam with swift, confident strokes to the edge of the large bath, relief briefly loosening his facial muscles as his feet hit the bottom.

"Idiot,"

He snapped, fearful anger sharpening his tone. Ignoring him, slender arms wound about his neck as she stayed curled, ankles crossed buy his side.

Teeth clenching, he rose, water sheeting from about the two of them. In the darkened room, lit only buy candlelight, it was difficult to see how much she had damaged herself.

With great care, he laid her out on the thick towels, flicking aside the dangling straps of cloth that so precariously covered her body. Emerald gaze wide and wet, she watched anxiously as he carefully removed the darkened bandage from her side.

Sinking her teeth into her lip, she gave a muted grunt of discomfort when the sticky edges of the cloth pulled at her skin, but otherwise endured it stoically.

"_Idiot_,"

He repeated, and neither where sure just who he was talking of.

* * *

"Catch me!"

She shouted, and ran laughing across the street.

Face fixed firmly in a scowl, he trudged after her, pointedly ignoring the way the playful breeze frisked her filmy sundress flat against her body, and the sunlight gilding her hair a gold burnished sable.

"Ice-man, wanna icecream?"

Mouth stretched into a teasing grin, she unceremoniously shoved a soft serve ice cream into his face. Upper lip curling slightly, he took it from her with a clear expression of distaste. Emerald eyes dancing, she watched strong, capable fingers deftly wrap around the wafer cone.

Satisfied that he was holding it securely, she skipped a few paces away, taking an enormous lick of her cone as she did so. Pink tongue snaking from her mouth, she curled it around the smooth, cold confection, before pulling it back within her mouth with a satisfied hum.

Flicking his crimson gaze to the sky, the older teen snorted lightly at her immature actions, but followed her nonetheless.

Giggling like a girl half her age, she skipped from store to store, 'ooh'ing and 'aah'ing over anything that sparkled and caught the light, or was what she defined interesting. Exotic spices and incense she ignored, having suffered a particularly virulent bout of sneezing from a tentative whiff.

"C'mon, boats, boats!"

Gold flecks spiralled through her eyes as she grinned at him, lithe body clearly illuminated buy help of the strong light and thin fabric clothing her body. Pink skittering across his cheeks, the captain ignored the uncomfortable tightening of his groin, and let her pull him along.

Paddleboats, he noted, weary indulgence wafting through his thoughts. _Paddle_ boats. Still, as per her request, he uttered no protest; a bet was a bet, after all.

"Go!"

A decidedly canine grin spreading across her face, she shot forward in the water, strong legs pumping as she propelled a large green frog over the small lake. Whooping and cackling with laughter, she bumped into as many boats as possible, carolling out her 'head' count as she did so.

Slowly, his lips settled into a smirk, and icy brows narrowed. It didn't take long for his competitive streak to rear its ugly head, and he was soon shooting across the water after her, swiftly matching her numbers to his own.

"Aaiie! Jerk! Nick off, you tosser!"

Her blistering oaths split the air with that familiar, peculiar Australian drawl. On the shore line, the indulgent mothers developed scowls, covering their children's ears, despite the language difference.

She was smiling, though, dark as night locks whipping about in the wind, fangs peeking out as she grinned for all she was worth.

Evidently sensing the brewing conflict, the other boaters left the pond to them; but their fear had no bounds. Doubled over with laughter, she was barely able to retaliate, frog-boat drifting about aimlessly as she cackled and howled.

Warily, he cracked a smile; she grinned straight back, though, unlike a human, she didn't bare her teeth. Tossing her head in a gesture as familiar to him, now, as the track of a spinning 'blade across the bowl, she gestured him closer.

Moving awkwardly, and with a great many exaggerated shrieks and muffled yips, she hauled herself into his boat. It was a one-seater; unperturbed buy this, she sat herself on his lap, legs trailing over the side, arms wound about his neck.

"Silky,"

Was her observation, fingers tangled in the scarf and hair at the nape of his neck. Furiously stamping down the urge to blush, he turned the boat to shore.

Gently pressing closer to nuzzle his neck and throat, she sighed deeply.

"Please?"

Beset buy indecision, he hesitated. Without any propulsion, the swan he'd rented slowly drifted to a halt, bobbing gently in the almost non-existent current.

Above, the sun shone down on them, warming the gentle breeze. Damp earth, fresh grass, and the implacable, musky scent of _her_ filled his nostrils. Burning embers banked for a few precious seconds as he closed his eyes.

"You pay."

He shot back curtly, before guiding the boat towards a small stand of willows, experienced hand soon seeing them there. A strange sort of smile curled her mouth, when he darted a look downwards; she was just _sitting_ there, curled up in _his_ lap…

Mentally, he shook his head in frustration. This girl… he'd _never_ understand her.

_Never_.

The slight impact of the craft bumping against the bank startled her from her light doze, and she arched her back with a yawn, coiling and flexing against him. Something like fear snapped through him and he stiffened, crimson hardening to maroon.

Buy the time they had walked up the soft sand of the bank to the wiry grass beneath the willows, he had withdrawn once more, becoming the cold, stoic captain.

Content to simply be _outside_, she sat beneath the gnarled tree, leaning against it, drowsy emerald-gold gaze flicking out across the lake.

"It didn't really hurt, at first,"

Unbidden, one calloused hand drifted to her side, where a palm sized bandage was faintly visible beneath her dress. He froze for a moment, breath quickening at the memory, they way she'd _looked-_

"Then it started to bleed. That was when it hurt,"

She added, tone soft and wondering.

"I mean…I just didn't _feel_ it. I'm standing there, and I know it _happened_, but it didn't hurt, so… how could it be real?"

That pause, that emphasis, the lilt of her words, all wove about him in a siren's spell of deeper meaning. This time, however, did she really mean something else? Brow furrowed as he attempted to puzzle out her words, he _almost_ missed the last of them.

"I want a pizza. For dinner. _A pizza_,"

Emerald eyes laughed at him from beneath gold, and she flashed him a bit of fang in mischief, as she rose to her feet. One eyebrow rose as she grinned at him, hands on her hips; never one to back down, he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Not health food or that shitty diet, _a pizza_."

Pausing, she held one finger up for particular emphasis, shifting her weight to her other leg, white sandal clad feet grinding into tough grass stems.

"One memento, a _real_ one, like normal people would do."

His breath gushed out of him as if he'd just been sucker punched, leaving him aghast at the implications of her words. Did she…what…_with him!_

Grinning wolfishly, she ambled over to him and grabbed his hand, tugging him back down the boat. Snapping out of his daze, the icy teen shot her an artic glare, stiffly tugged her hand from his, and jumped onto the paddle-boat.

Tossing her head, sable locks rippling in the wind, she picked her path carefully, smooth calves drawing his eye, hips a-swinging as she made her way back to him. Casually draping herself over him once more, she suppressed a smile as he automatically adjusted his position, in order to support her.

A low, dull throb of heat spiralled up from her side; on the pretext of watching a bunch of kids racing kites, she bit her lip and sucked in a quick breath to ward off the pain.

Her perch wasn't the most comfortable of ones, as his thighs rhythmically flexed and bounced her around, as he propelled them to shore with long, smooth strokes. But it was…nice.

Nice to be there, inhaling that dark, spicy chocolate smell of him, nice to know that he was there to keep her safe from harm.

And later, when she'd laughed and joked and weaselled her way even deeper into him, she drew him to her as they stood outside the hotel room, uncertain of how to proceed.

Bright, lurid crimson light washed in from the window further down, and she was mesmerized buy the way it lit up his gaze, smoky and dark in that strange, fey light.

Breath quickening, she leant closer, head unconsciously slanting as one hand tentatively brushed her waist. Reflexively, she grasped his hand, before stilling, emerald eyes flickering with gold.

And then soft, warm lips pressed themselves to her forehead, the hand at her waist twirled her expertly, and the hotel room door was shutting before she had time to gather her thoughts. Eyes wide, her hand brushed first her lips, and then the centre of her forehead.

Silver bells pealed in the hallway, and she hugged herself in joy, laughter spilling from her mouth in sudden realization.

Not exactly what she'd had in mind… but it was a start.

* * *

Reviews would be appreciated, so tell me what you think of this, and if you'd be interested in more of the same.  



	2. Chapter 2: Like Cat and Dog

Series: Beyblade

Genre: General

Author: Aethyrial Flame

Summary: It is something strange between them, and he knows not neither that which she wants nor needs; and it perplexes him, for she wants for none of those.

Disclaimer: I don't own beyblade or it associated characters and trademarks, but I _do_ own the original characters and settings in this one-shot.

Well, decided to stick this chapter up. I always wanted to do one of those 'girl joins bladebreakers' fanfics, but I've decided to take a different spin on it. I'm thinking of writing five pieces as a start, one from each perspective of the boys.

This has a different feel to the other chapter, mostly because it's only 11pmish, and I didn't read anything weird to get me in the mood, heh.

Anyway, hope you all enjoy and thankyou for the lovely reviews

(oh, and on a side note; I am revising most of my stories, hope to put up the fixed chapters soon, when I get off my lazy backside.)

* * *

**Chapter Two: Like Cat and Dog**

She watches.

He knows that she does this, and that there is no real malice to it, so he ignores the shifting and rustling, the cautious way she edges closer, and the flicker of green to gold as her curiosity gets the better of her.

And they always said that _cats_ where the curious ones…

Sometimes, they get mistaken for twins.

When she is quiet (which rarely happens) there is a melancholy beauty to her face and body; she is all long limbs and coltish grace, but there is a promise of beauty about her, and it witches in the twilight like dusky ropes of gauze.

He is quiet, too, with the sorrows of long past darkening those exquisite amber eyes of his (she is always praising him for them, and shows no shame in this) and long, silky black hair. To the outside world he is soft spoken and quietly confident, a core of steel expertly hidden, his claws only shown when needed.

They baffle those that know them; like dog and cat, they are expected to fight, not enjoy one another's company.

She is content to curl up against him, limbs splayed every which way as she nuzzles and tunnels, rubbing and arching, with the innocence of a young child who knows not the effect of their actions.

Her actions are borne with the steady competence of one who has faithfully guarded many younger children, and she knows this, and takes full advantage of it.

Sometimes, people speculate.

In public she is free with her affections, a coy smile here and an enthusiastic hug there; her boundless energy spills out onto those around her. But it takes only a few words to have her withdrawing, sullen and confused.

Those glorious green eyes of her dull as she considers what other people think, and those thoughts weigh her down and tear at her fragile façade.

But she dances past it all with a laugh and giggle, mulling upon them only in the dark silence of night, when no one can see her cry. But he knows, because he can hear her, and she knows that he can but does it anyway because it doesn't really matter.

Bright.

She is bright, like a falling star; the light in their midst, the one that distracts them from the seriousness and deadly danger of the situation they are in, that he can feel whipping close buy like the steel jaws of a trap.

It is rare that other notice her, of course; they see the smile, the sparkle, and her outrageous outfits, and dismiss her. She doesn't compete properly, only for show, a measure of the strength of their team, a display for the public.

That eats at her; she is there for convenience only. When it comes down to the line, it is not she who frets and worries about the out come of the battle, of the consequences of a loss and a win.

For her it does not matter, not really, anyway, but it hurts her anyway and she suffers alongside them, because she wants to know what this pain is like that they feel.

He pushes her away in anger, in shame and in hurt, after yet another loss in play, in practice. Thick in his throat, his pride sticks and refuses to be swallowed, refuses to bow down to this cocky little boy who knows _nothing_!

But she just gives him a sad little smile, and looks at him with old, old eyes.

She never says anything, and if he hurts her when he pushes to hard she never complains, simply hides the bruises and smiles that little bit brighter.

The guilt tears at him, made even the worse buy her unconditional forgiveness, and sometimes he just… just wants to _make_ her cry, because she cant be so sweet and sad all the time and it just doesn't work what does it take whywontshebreak whywontshebreaklikehehasdone!

Breath whistling in his throat, he slides down the wall, fist a bloody mess, knuckles bare expect for tatters of flesh that mar the sickly white of cartilage and bone.

This time, it is not Her who finds him, it is Him, and he wonders if that is really better.

Cold artic eyes stare down at him, impassive despite their bright, lurid colour. He feels himself drowning in them, suffocating in a sea of blood that clings thickly to his body, and the metallic stench quickly invades his nose.

He looks away for a moment, speaks in a gruff, low voice and expertly bandages him. Amber eyes shadowed, he looks away into the distance and remains silent, as he is coarsely admonished to remember practice, to attend, to give it his best.

And in those silent moments in between Him and leaving and the Others returning, a bitter pang wrenches his heart.

Because for a moment, he'd seen eyes as gold and as dark as his reflected in the glass of the window, and the pain in them had made his body go cold.

* * *

"Ple_ase_?"

She begs, oh so prettily, hands clasped before her as she bats her eyes in a ridiculous fashion.

Laughing, he crumples gratefully, and loads her plate with more. Shouting victoriously, she wriggles in her seat and taunts the jeering boy across from her.

Brown eyes invisible behind his enormous bowl, her cousin snarks something rude back, and continues eating.

Giggling, she picks delicately at her meal, and yet she consumes just as much, though it is never as noticeable.

He slants her a quick smile, and from the cover of their bodies and the chairs she gives his long braid a tug. Arching an eyebrow (because he knows that she _hates_ not being able to do it) he watches her squirm guiltily before baring fang in a smirk, and returning to his own dinner.

She smiles, picks a piece of corn out, and pops it into her mouth. Seconds later and a pink tongue snakes out to sweep the faint, greasy traces of butter from about her lips, and that strange shudder races over his body as she does so, gaze locked upon the lower portion of her face.

Then he is bumped and laughing with his team-mates once more, ignoring the innocent temptress beside him as she offers him some of the sweet yellow vegetable with a wicked, knowing smile.

A crude remark from over the trouble has her shouting, and soon enough she and her cousin are marching from the restuarnt and out into the sultry night time. He knows of the dangers they will ignore, and slips silently from his chair to guard them.

Cat-silent, he whispers out with a soft 'shush-shush' of his feet on the expensive carpet, and grins quickly, a flash of white in the darkness, as he spots the two shouting at one another in the street.

Never mind the darkness they had just defeated in the ancient subways beneath this, the city of love, the two where fighting it out like nothing else, arching and hissing, posturing and bragging.

"Oh, get off it already- me 'n Dragoon are gonna take them _all_ down!"

He boasts, and she growls, the deep throated sound at odds with her delicate, fey appearance.

"And what about glory for someone _else_! I wanted to fight Oliver, but _noooo_-"

"You weren't even there!"

"Point being? You should have asked!"

"What, call you up and go, 'oh may I _please_ fight this nice European Champion, okaa-san?' "

He simpered in a high falsetto, and blood rushes to her face at the censure in his tone. She flails wildly for a witty comeback, and fails, rage blinding her.

"Ass!"

She finally screeches, fists clenched buy her sides, eyes glowing with that uncanny radiance.

"Fat-cow,"

The brash boy shoots back, and lets out a whoop as she snarls and jumps for him.

He considers butting in, but has learnt that is safer to let the two fight it out, and instead admires the oddly artistic portrait of flashing black and silver against indigo, beneath the buttery warm lights.

But the noise of the two fighting draws out their most esteemed captain, and it takes only a few curt words on his behalf to have them flushing with shame and stalking away from one another.

And when that eagle-fierce gaze is turned on him, he shrugs and grins, baring fang, before laughing sheepishly.

"You know how those two get,"

He apologizes, and his voice is a warning.

Ice rustles, crimson burns, and then he turns away with an indifferent shrug.

Then they are hauled back to the hotel like the half grown teenagers they are, and he shares a secret smile with her as they are berated with cutting words and just as potent glares. Her eyes laugh with golden sparks, and he sees them past the tousled black hair just touched with silver, the rumpled clothing and the dirty smudges.

Because he is a master at waiting, and he knows that she comes to him before all others.

And for now, that is enough.

* * *

"_Lost_! How in hells name could _you_ lose, you ungrateful little bastard!"

She screeches, and he winces at the volume. Pride still stinging from the defeat, the teen in question is quick to retaliate.

"I'd like to see _you_ do better, Miss Perfect!"

"Oh, _do_ shut up, I have a date with that little sod now, all because you _lost._ Go away,"

Is her complaint, but there is less of true anger in her voice than there perhaps should be, and she promptly storms next door to her room, catching him buy the arm as she does so.

"What to wear, what to wear… I don't wanna encourage the little lech, _yuck_,"

She mutters, and he amuses himself with her running commentary as he takes a seat on her bed, playing 'Big Sister' again as she fossicks through her bag. Idly, he begins to wonder what she will wear, playing a familiar game.

"This?"

She queries, and he barely has time to see the outfit before it is tossed into a corner and she is snatching up a new one. He eyes the clothing flying about the room, tamps down the urge to chase after it, and stretches out on the bed for a nap.

When he wakes up, she is flushed and red from a shower, faded blue denim riding low on her hips, and a loose t-shirt she stole from him some time back deftly concealing her growing curves.

He arches an eyebrow at the faint traces of makeup on her face because he knows she hates it, and grins as she tackles him.

They roll around the bed for a moment before he lets her win, and she straddles him triumphantly, leaning down to nip his nose. Neither have heard the door open, and both shoot a guilty glance towards it when it slams closed.

Shamed, they crawl away, and she pulls on her trainers as he silently leaves, both somehow embarrassed buy what they know is natural for their kind.

Then she is at the door to their rooms, shy and dawdling, and demands that they all escort her until she is picked up. They fuss and groan, some more than others, but he just winks and playfully musses her hair.

"Try to leave him in once piece,"

Is his advice;

"Find a way to _beat_ that sucker,"

Her cousin shouts, fists pumping the air.

"Order something expensive,"

The blonde tells her with a sly wink, and the shortest and youngest of them all, but admittedly the smartest, simply wishes her well quietly.

"I know you'll have fun."

And, leaning up against the wall, a cold eyed teen simply refuses to look at her, face impassive. She hesitates, and eyes the boys surrounding her, before her face becomes steely with determination.

He hides a grin, knowing what is it to come, because she has pulled this stunt before and it is, above all, his favourite.

Expression resolute, she storms over to the silent teen, grabs an arm, and _yanks_.

No one expects her to be able to move him; and indeed, she does not, for a moment. But then he stumbles and she is triumphantly towing the icy haired teen out the door, and hastily muffled snickers follow them as the group troupes down to the lobby.

Once within sight of the doors he shakes her off, muttering something in a low, dark tone of voice.

She blushes darkly and punches him in the shoulder, before spinning on her heel and marching out to meet the smirking blonde standing before the limo.

He calls out after her, voice brazen in the muted quite of sunset;

"Don't forget, and don't exert yourself too much, remember?"

It seems impossible, but she blushes even harder, and yanks the blonde into the long car after her, earning a yelp as his head skims the top of the doorway.

Then, oddly subdued, the group of boys meander their way back up to their room, till the blonde suggests a round of poker, and they never notice when she stumbles in later than they thought, a silly grin on her face.

He suspects what might have happened, but finds that it does not matter; he has a full house, and will win at any moment, after all.

* * *

Heehee, I have a few ideas for the enxt chapter, but tell me what you think; Max or Kenny, next? 


	3. Chapter 3: Tiptoe to the Bedroom

Series: Beyblade

Genre: General

Author: Aethyrial Flame

Summary: It is something strange between them, and he knows not neither that which she wants nor needs; and it perplexes him, for she wants for none of those.

Disclaimer: I don't own beyblade or it associated characters and trademarks, but I _do_ own the original characters and settings in this one-shot (collection).

This is a little piece about everyone's favourite blonde haired, blue eyed American- Max. I hate the way everyone writes him as a sugar-hyped bimbo, because that's nothing like him. Everyone forgets that our maxy-boy is a master defensive strategist, and seems to spend half the year in America with his top-researcher momma, and the rest with his hobby-shop owning dad.

That matures a person, and I don't think he's as stupid as most people portray him…

* * *

**Chapter Three: Tiptoe to the Bedroom**

"Oooh I so do _not_ want to eat more- and I refuse!"

The blonde arches an eyebrow at her sudden refusal, and she gives an embarrassed, sheepish shrug.

"Butt-monkey,"

She grumbles, idly nibbling on a piece of toast. To her left, her cousin is cackling as he eagerly slathers tomato sauce over everything, and the butler standing near the door looks about ready to faint because of this.

"_Kaaaiii_, Rei- do I _really_ have to eat stuff like you pigs?"

"You ate just as much,"

He murmurs, blue eyes flashing with mischief, and she struggles to keep a straight face, pinching his thigh. The thump of his knee against the table is lost buy the arrival of the aristocrats, and when the bragging is done and challenges have been made, he finds that she is gone.

It doesn't matter, though; he's used to it. He'll get his revenge _later_…

---

She's kicking washing down the hallways. He pauses, task at hand momentarily forgotten, in order to watch her. Maybe it's the surroundings; arching ceilings lost to the early morning gloom, cold marble floors, and aristocratic busts; but she seems strangely out of place.

Kick, slide, kick, slide…

A flash of red catches his eye. Previously, she seemed unaware of his presence, but he must have made some small sound, because she suddenly looks up. Something filters through her eyes, and then she traces where _his_ are resting, and grins.

"Would you believe-" Kick, slide, tumble of black and green and racy red- "That Kai bought that for me on a bet?"

He leans back against a pillar, scratching at his neck, and shrugs.

"Not really,"

The blonde allows, and she grins again, sending the tumbled pile of washing a few metres in front of her with a hefty kick.

"Good. It was a lie,"

She adds, and he inclines his head, still watching the washing. After a few minutes she reaches him, and they walk side buy side as she heads for, he assumes, the laundry.

He is quiet now, letting his thoughts roam as they please, and it is a content sort of silence that fills the air between them. As they pass the occasional window, he notes that dawn is swiftly approaching, but soon any measure of time is taken from him, as they enter a cool, shadowed hallway.

"It wasn't all that bad. I mean, it was for mum, but he wasn't really much of a dad, so it didn't hurt so much."

Her voice startles him badly, though he is quick to hide it, and her sideways glance catches the flash of old pain in his eyes. He makes a noncommittal sound, and kicks her washing a little, vision glazed.

She shoots him a worried look, before sighing, and plunging ahead.

"Sometimes I just want to scream at them. I mean… we're all so screwed up, but, it's like… I don't know,"

Her voice has a helpless edge to it that catches and tears at him, and he begins to sort the dirty laundry into piles of white, colours and darks, movements rigid and automatic. Shooting him another look, she tugs at her lower lip with her teeth, and boots the shiny chrome washing machine.

"Stupid boys. Why does _Tyson_ always get the glory? I _could_ have taken on that Oliver guy, maybe even Enrique, too…"

Blue eyes lightening a little, he straightens and turns to face her.

"Oh _really_,"

He drawls, because he knows that his accent is stronger that way, and she giggles and swats him for it.

"Yes, _really_,"

She mimics, dumping a load of washing into the machine, back to him.

"Why is he so important?"

Silence swoops down, netting the words in their throats, and he freezes as the implications of her words reaches him. There is a little girl hurt to them, a naïve demand, and he can sense the flow of her thoughts, tiny grudges and hidden hurts so much like his own…

"Tyson is… Tyson, I guess."

His laughter is hollow and forced, and she suddenly turns and throws her arms around him.

"Don't do that, _please_,"

She begs into his collarbones, and his hands reflexively clasp her too him. Even though she is the elder of the two, he always feels like the older sibling, keeping a parental eye on her.

Sometimes he teases her, skilfully drawing the laughter from her voice until she descends into fits of giggles. But there is always a limit; she turns to the dark haired one, feeling some sort of connection there, and he is a temporary sort of comfort.

He's never held her like this, and the butterfly rush it gives him has his knees shaking.

Then she pulls back a little, and shoots him a glare, tapping the end of his nose.

"You _grew_."

Her tone is accusatory, and, off-balance, it takes him a moment to realise what she is getting at. The _something_ strange in the air retreats, and he grins, resting his chin on the top of her head.

"I s'pose."

He murmurs, and then she is dancing away from him, skipping up the cold stone hallway.

---

"NO!"

She screams, and only their hands keep her in her seat, and she is fighting them, desperate to get to the cloud of billowing dust that hides her cousin.

"TYSON!"

The sound is raw and primal, and the dark haired boys holding her flinch and slacken their grip at the sound of it. Grim faced, the blonde pins her bodily to the floor, murmuring in her ears, a constant stream of sound.

"He'll be fine, relax and calm down I mean he's _Tyson_ for Christs sake, just chill out, lay back, nothing bad is happening it'll all work out, he'll be fine…

Pride rears its ugly head as she slowly subsides, and the whispers in the stands die away to nothing as the smoke clears. Down on the floor, the two see nothing, but can hear the thunderous roar of a thousand throats swelling with screams of victory, and both dread the moment when they discern the truth.

But he's looking into her, eyes a fierce dark blue, wind lashed oceans, and she's drowning in them, so alone and frightened.

"I.."

Her voice trails off, weak and vulnerable, and he carefully pulls her up to her feet.

"Chill,"

He whispers back, and they turn as one to face the champion.

* * *


End file.
